


Passion and Propriety

by plutonianshores



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aunt/Niece Incest, F/F, Incest, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/pseuds/plutonianshores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Margaret Willoughby moves to the city in search of an eligible bachelor, and finds herself entangled in a rather scandalous romance instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passion and Propriety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makiyakinabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makiyakinabe/gifts).



Meg had never been so frightened in her life as the day her carriage dropped her off at Beckwith Manor. She knew that she’d have to marry well (her father’s gambling had created that necessity long ago), and that her chances of finding an eligible man while living at her parents’ country estate were next to nothing. But she’d never met Aunt Clara in her life, and as a young lady, Meg was certain she’d prove rather disappointing. Even her best dresses were patched and mended, and she knew nothing of societal mores. She could barely dance the simplest of waltzes, much less the complicated steps that she knew were all the rage in the capital these days. Her aunt would most likely take one look at her and send her back home.

The man who answered the door didn’t ease her worries any. Her parents’ estate barely had the funds to maintain a single maid, while Aunt Clara had a smartly-dressed butler who (it seemed) served only to invite guests inside. He assured her that he’d inform Lady Beckwith of her arrival, but he seemed more surprised at her appearance than she would have liked.

Her aunt seemed aware of her identity, at least. “Ah, Margaret! We weren’t expecting you quite so soon.”

Meg’s mother had sent her on her way the day after Aunt Clara’s acceptance of her stay had arrived in the post, terrified that she’d rescind the offer. “I thought it best that I leave before the weather turned. Storms can make travel so difficult.”

“Of course.” Aunt Clara knew as well as Meg did that this year had been unseasonably calm, and the chance of storms was quite small indeed, but she didn’t question Meg’s explanation. “I’ll have Parrish show you to your room; the house can be intimidating, so I’ve put you across the hall from me.”

The butler (Parrish, she thought, trying to attach the name to his face—how embarrassing it would be to forget the name of one’s own help) retrieved her trunk and led her up the stairs to a room entirely too large to sleep in. Meg spent the night staring at the ceiling, trying to will the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach away. Her aunt seemed kind, and surely she could manage to smile brightly and dance lightly and entrance a man or two.

 

When morning came, she wished she’d managed a bit more sleep. Her aunt whisked her away first to breakfast, then to her own dressing room.

“I took the liberty of having a few dresses made up; I hope you don’t mind.”

Meg smiled nervously. “That was too kind of you! I hope I haven’t taken up too much of your time.”

“Oh, of course not! It’s been so empty here since my husband passed, and I’m thrilled to have another woman in the house. One’s coming-out is incredibly exciting, and you can’t imagine how happy I am to help you through it.”

Clara insisted on dressing Meg herself (“You’ll be so much more comfortable with your own aunt than a maidservant you’ve never met before”), and once the process had begun, Meg was glad of it. Clara’s hands lingered on Meg’s shoulders as she adjusted the collar, traced over the swell of her hips to smooth the fabric into place, tucked a stray hair behind her ear with a loving caress. Meg found herself shivering. If she felt this exposed under the hands of a relative, how much more nervous would she be as a complete stranger dressed her?

Aunt Clara turned her around after the dress had been arranged to her satisfaction. “Lovely! Although you’ll have to stand up a bit straighter than that, my dear.” She straightened Meg’s back with a push of her hands, then cupped Meg's bosom in her palms. “You’ll want to display these. Don’t blush, surely you’ve gathered what men are like. Chest out, chin up, back straight, and you’ll have suitors lining up to dance with you.”

It was the caress of her breasts that made Meg blush as much as the statement, but she couldn’t tell Aunt Clara that. Her mother had never been one for physical contact; surely this was a normal gesture between female relatives. Her aunt couldn’t have meant anything by it. “If you say so.”

 

The next week passed in a similar fashion, Aunt Clara correcting her posture, the way she held her fork, the sound of her laugh. Meg began to take pleasure in Clara’s compliments. Perhaps it was silly to flush with pride at a comment as simple as, “Oh, Margaret, your step has grown so much lighter!”, but Meg couldn’t bring herself to care.  
She savored the moments her aunt let her relax even more than the lessons. Clara would invite her into her bedroom when she undressed at night, for conversation and help with a few tricky clasps. Meg had assumed that a wealthy woman such as her aunt would have a maid to undress her, but Clara preferred her niece’s help.

This night, with her debut coming the next day, she especially appreciated Clara’s company.

“This will be your first ball?” Clara shrugged off her bodice, gesturing for Meg to undo her stays. “You’ll be wonderful. Just do as I’ve taught you.”

“I’ve never even talked to a man my age!”

Clara took Meg’s hand in hers. “I’ll help you practice. Imagine that I’m, say, Lord Edwin Kendrick, and I’ve just asked you to dance.”

It was difficult to imagine her aunt, clad in only a near-transparent shift that clung to the swell of her breasts, as a gentleman, but Meg nodded her assent. “Have you been in the capital long, Lord Kendrick?”

Clara swung her into a waltz. “I’ve just returned from our country estate. Last month was grouse season, you know.”

“Oh, you hunt!” Meg giggled the way Clara had taught her. “I accompanied my father every fall; it’s such an elegant sport.”

“You shall have to call at Hinwick, then. We have the most marvelous forests.”

“I would like that very much.” By now, Meg was entirely too conscious of Clara’s hand on her waist, and she was certain her aunt had noticed her blush. Perhaps she’d put it down to being caught up in a daydream.

“I would be thrilled to have our halls graced by such an exquisite young lady.”

No number of deep breaths could calm Meg’s racing heart. Without thinking, she leaned forward to kiss Clara, and _oh_ , what had she done? Aunt Clara was a relative, and a woman, and she’d been so kind to Meg and this would ruin everything—

Clara smiled. “I knew you were a clever girl.”

She felt the color slowly return to her face (and how it was possible to have grown so pale mere moments after a full-fledged flush, Meg wasn’t sure.) “You’re not angry with me?”

“Angry? Dear, I’ve been flirting with you since you arrived on my doorstep. I had full confidence you’d catch on. It would certainly be too forward to kiss Edwin Kendrick, but you have my assurance that you may kiss _me_ any time, so long as we’re alone.”

Meg sat down on the bed, legs shaking. “You’re not…this is terribly improper.”

“What would life be without a touch of impropriety? Besides, it would be a shame to let beauty like yours go to waste on some slavering beast of a husband.” Clara perched beside her, snaking an arm around her shoulder. “I have a few more lessons for you, if you’re willing.”

Neither of them slept much that night, but Meg couldn’t say she minded.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for historical inaccuracies; this is a mix of various settings that I only know about from romance novels and Masterpiece Theatre dramas.


End file.
